


Malunion

by MsChupacabra



Category: Generator Rex
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23646601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsChupacabra/pseuds/MsChupacabra
Summary: As a rule, it was white pieces that moved first in the game of Chess.
Relationships: (if u squint) - Relationship, Black Knight & White Knight, Black Knight/Rebecca Holiday, platonic - Relationship
Kudos: 5





	Malunion

**Author's Note:**

> Authors Note:  
> Hope you are all keeping safe and Healthy.
> 
> This was written a while back for the Amino Generator Rex fanwork's exchange, for [Red Knight](https://aminoapps.com/c/generator-rex/page/user/redknight/vxG3_NLt2f6GXVMBM2nnnZbq6KowvrkEqqIX) !
> 
> Based on the Headcanon that Black Knight and White Knight were both formerly employed by the Consortium before White Knight defected and became partners with Six. This story takes place in an Alternate Universe from that headcanon where Black Knight defects from the Consortium and roleswaps with White Knight. Now, White Knight has become the Consortium puppet Black Knight was in season three of Generator Rex basically.

As a rule, it was white pieces that moved first in the game of Chess.

'Better you than me,' she thought without real pleasure at the raw screams flooding the hall. Only a tortured expression of agony carried the weight needed to pierce through the thick walls. It was agony and it was fear; the terror of a man who was going to die, but could not so much as think of death because the pain wouldn’t let him. 

But just because she didn’t take satisfaction from his circumstances, didn’t mean she wanted to feel the opposite either. Sorrow shouldn’t have brought her down these halls. Were their positions reversed, she had no doubt he’d be thinking the same. He would never grieve over her. She reminded herself of that each time she found herself taking the route passing just outside of his room, even though it was usually out of her way. 

If anything, her sense of worth should have been elevated. The Consortium never intended for them to be anything to one another, except to serve as each other's countermeasure. They had made that much clear in giving them their respective namesakes. White had been placed across from her, on the opposite end of the board. If either one of them toed the line, the other would be there, waiting to dole out the punishment. For as long as she could remember, she’d privately resented the fact that her status was lower than his. White moved first. Never had she outwardly expressed her discontent with that. It had just always been there, quietly burning beneath the surface. 

Now however, White Knight screams like he’s going to die. 

She should have felt like his better, but victory only tasted like ash. There was no superiority in the way she waited for the screaming to stop. On some days, he would hush and his anguish would soften into something quieter. Only then, an ear pressed against the surface of the door could have possibly picked up his suffering.

 _I’m better than you._

She waited and waited, but the rush of pride never came. It was an immature thought, but weren’t games inherently childish? They had been named after game pieces, and if this were Chess, his pain was Black’s checkmate. She may not have taken pleasure from the way his body was handling whatever had been done to it, and she didn’t want to sympathize either, but her sense of self preservation ran strong. This was proof that their superiors found her less expendable than him. 

So she was relieved. 

But regardless of what expectations their superiors had laid out for them, no matter what they had initially intended, she and White had grown up together. 

“What did you do to him?” Her voice was carefully devoid of interest as she met the curious stare of Caesar Salazar, one of the Nanite Project’s scientists. He was younger than her and majority of his co-workers too, but that didn’t mean he was incapable of providing her with information.

Part of the reason she asked was because she knew White hadn’t been the only test subject to receive nanites. He was just the only one to have had such an extreme reaction to them. Before him, there was an accident on site involving a small child, Dr. Salazar’s younger brother. He’d been so badly injured that, in order to save his life, he was given nanites. Needless to say, the Consortium were pleased with the results. Pleased enough to want another trial.

“Who do you mean? I was not aware I did something to anyone...”

As a supervisor, she’d spent some deal of time watching him. Of all the people working on the project, his behavior was the most inconsistent and difficult to pin down. There were moments where he genuinely seemed like nothing more than an absent minded inventor only absorbed in his work. Then there were moments where his eyes were far too sharp, giving away that he knew more than he let on. But it appeared he actually didn’t know what she was talking about, and that bothered her in a way she had never experienced before.

“White Knight.” She answered.

Understanding flickered across his face. 

“You are worried,” He guessed. “Because he is not reacting well to the nanites.”

“I’m not worried.” 

“No? I could not think of another reason you would ask about a test subject. You are only the Consortium’s hired muscle…” 

Black Knight’s eyes tightened, leveling a flat look at him. While she was unamused with his reasoning behind why he thought she’d ask about White, it was reaffirming to know that nothing about herself had revealed anything. It wasn’t her face or body language that said a thing, Caesar had drawn his conclusion from her bothering to ask at all. 

“I’m asking because your brother was also given nanites,” She clarified her intention. “He recovered just fine.” 

Caesar softened at the mention of his brother, lips pulling into a disheartened frown. It only existed there briefly, clinical distance making a return to the forefront. Almost remindingly he pointed out, “Yes, he ‘recovered.’ He was already dying, and you cannot really get a reaction out from someone who is very nearly dead. White Knight’s body is undergoing change at a molecular level. Realistically… not a painless process.” 

So his brother had been knowingly given a treatment that had the potential to be painful. It was morbidly amusing to hear that whatever they put the child through wouldn’t have mattered so long as he got out of it alive. If the Salazars knew the Consortium’s true colors, they would have been quick to denounce any association with them, but they were remarkably similar. 

If proof of humanity’s self-serving nature existed at all, it could have been found in The Nanite Project. It was an idea made possible and advanced by self-interest; whether that was wanting to squeeze the life and use out of people considered nothing more than living tools or refusing to let a “very nearly dead” boy move on. Anything was permissible, so long as they got what they wanted out of someone. Her superiors just happened to want human weapons, but in the Salazars’ case, their actions would probably be excused as an act of love considering the boy hadn’t actually suffered through the treatment. Not like White. 

The corner of her mouth twitched ruefully. “Your brother could have been in pain, Dr. Salazar.”

“Possibly. He was not awake though.” 

“How selfish of you.” Black wasn’t a hypocrite. She couldn’t pass judgment against him and quite frankly, she didn’t care what could have happened to the boy. It was just an observation. She was his overseer. Isn’t that what they did? Observe.

“Mostly anything anyone ever does can be explained that way.” Caesar was unbothered by her assessment. “Are you suggesting that I should feel guilt?” 

“I'm not suggesting anything.” 

“He is my brother, I could not bring myself to regret anything. And what would be the point? What is done is done, and as for Rex… Well, he benefited from my, as you say, ‘selfishness.’ The objective was never to hurt him.” Caesar merely shrugged at her. “Until White Knight, a bad reaction was never anything except a possibility to us. Now that we know for sure, we’re working on solutions for the next time. For instance, your nanites will be designed to be more docile. Call it a little trial and error.” 

Her nanites? 

To her credit, she attempted to keep a firm grip on her composure as the revelation hit her at full force. It was a struggle and in the end, shock beat out her desire to appear unfazed. She stiffened, as if in anticipation of a blow, her visible eye hardening in realization. Of course, she thought to herself. Of course. 

Seeing her reaction, Caesar cocked his head to the side.

“You didn’t know? Ah, I guess the Consortium wouldn’t have said anything to you about it. I did not think they would be the type to tell their hench persons much.” He mused. He didn’t sound taunting or pitying. Like her, he was also only observing.

She didn’t want his pity, she only wanted to throttle him. Caesar may not have been responsible for orchestrating her and White’s misery but his hand was definitely in it. She was angry, almost visibly so, from the humiliation of it all. She had deluded herself from the start. If the Consortium had no qualms offering up their favorite soldier for experimentation, why did she ever think that they’d hesitate in using her?

* * *

What could she do but fall in line? The choice was not hers. 

“They used us.” Black stated, deciding it was safer to speak freely when she was up in the air. Of course, there was always the chance that their plane was wiretapped, but her words weren’t a call for rebellion. Not yet. However, from the way White’s lips pressed into a hard line, they may as well have been. 

They were on a mission. 

Recovery time had been halved for her, but even if she adjusted faster than White, the procedure put her out of commission for a few days. Having ‘docile nanites’ didn’t mean ‘pain free.’ It was as though her veins had pushed molten metal through her body for hours on end, while every muscle cried out in protest. Knowing that it was merely half of what White endured left her locking her teeth together to remain silent. Pride and the desire to keep her dignity held her together.

And what had her suffering amounted to? 

After some examination, they found that her rate of healing had accelerated. The doctors celebrated that as a victory. While they were well educated in their fields, they were so naive. Not every new development was a marvel to those who wanted specific results. It was nothing that her superiors could weaponize, and the disappointment had been palpable. Not something to take personally. It wasn't her mistake. 

But once again, her worth was crushed underneath White’s importance. The Consortium were satisfied with his mutations, the ability to form machines at will. It would have hurt but it wasn’t surprising anymore. 

“Hate to break it to you,” White sarcastically drawled, “but they’ve been doing that for a while now. What? You wanna start complaining about it now? After all these years? You're a little late.” 

She wondered if he'd heard himself screaming, the bloody terror that hadn't let her sleep. She didn't think he did, because if he had, he would have been singing a different tune. 

(And which one was she singing for that matter?)

“I thought you were going to die.” From her, that was rare honesty. 

“Is that supposed to mean something coming from you?” He barked a harsh laugh. “Tell me something. If you were ordered to kill me, would you do it?” 

_The choice was not hers._

She nodded in answer, confirming whatever thoughts he had circulating in his head. The movement was mechanical on her part, but White couldn’t have known and she couldn’t tell him. 

“Thought so.” He said, going back to prepping for their mission, reading over the documents they’d both been given.

“It doesn’t have to be that way.” There it was, that first call to resistance. Her words were a tiny rebellion in themselves. The fact that she dared to let the idea leave her mouth.

"I know what this is. What you're trying to do do." White accused, "The envy's finally getting to you, isn't it? You think if you can plant a seed of doubt in Our head, turn Us against the Consortium, you'll be their new darling?”

His shift to a plural form of speaking didn't escape her notice, his voice distorted by a hollow reverb underlying his words. After waking, he had come back different. Wrong. His speaking patterns weren’t the only side effects, his appearance had changed dramatically too. His hair had been leached of all its color, and his formerly green eyes now shimmered gold. 

The way he reduced the issue to petty jealousy grated on her nerves. It hit too close to the mark, and yet missed what she was saying completely. In truth, she did envy him. Perhaps these traitorous thoughts never would have developed if her pedestal were a little higher than his. But she was leagues above waiting in his shadow for the moment he slipped.

“Grow up.” She spat, narrowing her eyes. “Do you think I waste my days dreaming of ways to outperform you?” 

“Don’t you?” White retorted, “You wouldn’t be here, obediently taking another mission, if you really couldn’t stand it. Truth is, you like being on their leash when you’re not second-rate to me. Well, here's a bitter pill for you: even if I did walk away, they’d still prefer me over you. "

All fell quiet on the plane for the duration of the flight. Silently, she seethed with indignation, lacking an argument that wouldn’t be a lie. Everything he said was true enough. When she wasn’t compared to him, she hadn’t a single complaint in all the years she’d spent with the organization. But that was before they were used as test subjects without concern as to what could have happened to them. The cruelty that their superiors inflicted on others had never been turned against them. Never like that. 

Even now, they continued to lack concern. The mission they’d been tasked with seemed like a test for White’s new abilities more than anything else. Killing the Sixth Most Dangerous Man on the planet. How different was it from toying with a disposable plaything? They were going to break him and she would have to watch. 

Their target’s tracks lead to a city near the sweltering desert. They were hit with the brunt of the sun’s heat when their plane finally landed in the middle of the afternoon. By the time they were walking the streets, sweat began to collect at White’s temple. She wasn’t faring any better, given that her clothes were black and absorbed more warmth. Ignoring her own problem with the weather, she seized the opportunity to mock him.

“I guess your nanites don’t protect you from the sun.” There was a faint smirk on her face.

White glowered. It lacked venom. 

Similarly, there had been no real bite to her words. This was unlike their argument on the flight, but not anything new either. A familiar kind of teasing. Old. The look on his face sent her backward through time, nostalgia doing its dirty work and disarming her altogether. His glower didn’t belong to a stranger. Easily, she could match it to a baby faced boy with soft blonde hair, in spite of how his appearance had been altered. As far as she could remember, he always had a sour expression on his face, even when he was meant to be having fun. Maybe that’s why it was so comfor--

Why it was so easy to look at him now and see that brat she’d known her entire life. A sign that, at the very least, some things about him remained unchanged. And it really had been an entire lifetime that she’s known him. Her lifetime. He could remember a time without her. The perks of being older she supposed, because she couldn’t say the same. 

“You’re turning pink.” She whispered, unthreatened and smug. 

He rolled his eyes. Black wondered if he could still get sunburned and was further entertained by the mental picture. He’d be a bright pig instead of the Charolais cow that he was. Windhoek, the city they currently occupied, received 300 days of sunshine annually. Its proximity to the Kalahari Desert made it and White Knight an open target to the worst of the solar rays, but since it was also the largest city, many of the towering buildings provided momentary interruptions of shade.

Although she’d made fun of his intolerance to the temperature, they were forced to stop on several occasions because of him. It was hardly comical then; the way he would brace himself against a building to combat a headache, squeeze his eyes shut tight, and mutter complete nonsense to himself under his breath. It wasn’t entirely the climate’s fault, but it likely didn’t help his condition. Whatever was in his system, eating away at his brain, it was exacerbated by the beat of the African sun. He made a pitiful sight to her.

“Can you continue?” She would impassively ask when White came back to himself. 

“I’m fine.” He would snap back every time. 

An additional benefit of Windhoek’s size was that it made standing out among the crowd near impossible for them. Were there fewer people, they might have called attention to themselves just from the way they dressed, but they weren’t the only foreigners. The city was a popular tourist destination for the country, people drawn in by Country Club and Wildlife Resorts. She and White had stationed themselves in one of the more inconspicuous hotels, eleven miles away from where the man called Six was staying. Too far to give away that they were on his trail. 

They waited long after they were fully situated in their temporary headquarters, and long after night brought the temperature down to something gentler. Rushing into this job was out of the question when they were facing an opponent with the prestige Six had earned for himself. There was a severe level of care in the way she and White readied themselves. Impatience had been trained out of them from a young age.

Exactly four hours after the moon had risen, they set out into the city in a nondescript, black rental car. An eerie new feature of his mutation was that White’s eyes now reflected light in the dark. His yellow eyes gave off an artificial gleam, unsettling her with how inhuman it was. Did her eyes shimmer that way too? 

Infiltrating Six’s safe house with two pairs of striking, iridescent eyes was risky, but this was a test after all. On a future mission, she’d remember to bring something to shield her gaze. But while dangerous, the improvements to her vision were unmistakable. She could see perfectly in the dark, not something she noticed until she was maneuvering through the apartment complex. 

Their target’s television was on, broadcasting some unfamiliar news network. There was no sign of him though.

He couldn’t have vanished. There was nothing indicating that Six had moved on. All of his things remained, as though he’d only stepped out for a moment. Nothing appeared staged which meant that everything probably was. His flat was lived in, but he kept his space tidy. That made the handful of playing cards sitting on his coffee table stick out as strange. 

She and White glanced down, examining them closely. It seemed like they’d been put down during the middle of a game. Interrupted, but set so that if the appropriate number of players returned, they could pick back up from where they left off and continue. 

A commercial break from the TV was the first to break the silence. Then, it was her own voice.

“Idiot.” 

White scowled at her. “Witch.”

“It’s a card game.” She said.

“You mean we interrupted his game of solitaire?” He asked sarcastically.

“No.” She rolled her eyes. “This is a setup for a game called ‘Idiot.’ It’s a popular card game in this country. He’s calling you an idiot, Idiot.” 

“I’m going to enjoy killing this jackass...”

Abruptly, he flipped the coffee table over, decorating the floor in a mess of cards. Tremors shuddered through his body, rage poorly contained by his form. Hunching slightly, White threaded his fingers through his hair, clutching at the white strands. He was both pained and livid, growling low in his chest. 

Black let him have his moment to cool off, unable to watch him. There was a shatter of glass, signifying he'd broken something, and additional crashing sounds that followed. She was afraid she might see someone she didn’t recognize. This was new, and he was very nearly a stranger to her. White may have had a temper, but this wasn’t his usual spot of violence. This was an uncontrolled, child’s tantrum. 

Like White, she was furious, except she was better at holding it back. Rather than taking it out on the furniture, she continued to check the place over. It was most likely a pointless effort. If Six was aware they’d been tailing him all along, he would have had ample time to ensure he hadn’t left anything behind. Nothing that would reveal where he’d run off to anyway. He had played them. 

Making her way back over to the upturned coffee table, she kneeled beside it. There was nothing odd about the deck which had been left for them to find. They were simply ordinary playing cards. Picking a random one up between her fingers, she turned it over a couple of times. Black did this with a total of five cards before deciding that they weren’t tampered with. 

Next, she studied the bottom of the coffee table. It was made of dark oak, clean and new in every way. The price sicker hadn’t even been removed from where it was slapped onto one of the legs. Printed red on white, it read: 7,028.50 R. It could almost be dismissed as an inconsequential detail, but the currency matched their location. Six had to have made the purchase here at some point during his stay. She arched a brow, further irritated. Had he bought it just for the occasion? If he had, then it meant that not only had he known they were coming, but that he’d been unconcerned enough to linger longer for a shopping trip. 

It was also a lot of effort for a meaningless joke. 

Concluding he wanted them to pay attention, she turned her head back toward the cards, gathering them all together. White was making his way toward the door, ready to leave. He was fatigued, every muscle in his body loose so that there was an unsteady air about him. 

“Let’s go. There’s nothing here.” He commanded, his words laden with exhaustion. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. 

Ignoring him, Black flipped through the cards in her hands. 

Even after going through them for a second time, she found no evidence of tampering. One card did stand out. Not because it had been altered or defaced, so it wasn’t immediately apparent unless one stared closely enough. It was an face card, but the art style differed from the others. It was Belgian, whereas the rest were Paris patterned.

“Are you listening to me? I said: Let’s. Go.” White ordered, making a step in her direction.

“A standard French deck has either fifty-two or thirty-two cards.” 

“So?” 

“This deck has fifty-three.”

“Great, you know how to count. Good for you.” 

Annoyed, Black Knight stood up and held the face card up. “We need to find the deck this belongs to.” 

“No.” He rejected flatly. “He’s playing you for a damn fool. You wanna go on his little treasure hunt adventure? Fine. I’m waiting in the car.” 

At the very least, his absence let her think in peace. Quite frankly, as much as she tried ignoring them, his episodes were growing increasingly disturbing.

If everything had been staged, she had to assume that every detail was deliberate. From the obviously arranged cards, down to the tiny price tag. She surveyed the room, eyes finally landing on the television. The screen had been shattered in White's fit of anger, but it hadn't been shut off when they first arrived. It had been switched on since before they’d set foot through the door. 

Crouching in front of it, her black boots crushed the broken shards of glass beneath her. Reaching underneath the TV, her hand felt around the floor until her fingers brushed a lightweight object. Pulling her arm back, she slid out a palm sized box. It was the container for a second deck of cards, only it was empty. Almost empty. 

Inside was a single card. A Joker. The Fool. At the very bottom, in green script, Six had written:

T r y H a r d

On the side, he'd left an address.

An invitation. It could not have more clearly been a trap.

She went back to the car, shoving the address against the driver seat window so that White could read it. He rolled the glass down and snatched it out of her hand.

“This is a trap.” He informed.

“I'm already aware of that.”

“‘Try hard?’ He makes all that effort to leave such a complicated message behind and you're the ‘try hard?’ Freakin' Posey.” 

“If he made the effort, then he’s going to be there.” She pointed out, sliding into the passenger seat of the vehicle. 

The card lead them away from the densely populated areas of the city, to the outskirts where houses were farther spaced apart. Remaining hidden was difficult when their environment was so open. Six would know they were coming, but Black was far from intimidated. This man had insulted her. 

There were fewer paved streets, dirt and shrubs allowed to grow, and left alone where they weren’t obstacles to city life. The buildings were in varying states of maintenance; some abandoned and in the process of falling apart, while others were properly cared for. The building that their address belonged to stood at the very end of a road. It was the last of three houses lined in a row, run down and ready to collapse if the wind hit it wrong. Beyond that was simply barren flatland, dusty acres that stretched on for miles. 

Neither she nor White made a move to get out of the car upon arrival. 

“He’s not in there…” White scoffed.

She never thought he would be. How long had Six’s message sat in his apartment, waiting for them? He wouldn’t have holed himself up somewhere like this if it was longer than a few days. 

“That’s alright. We can draw out a rat...” The hollow echo in White’s voice had returned. 

Along his arm, as his fingers gripped the handle of the car door, ran golden circuit-like lines that glowed starkly against his pale complexion. He faltered, giving a strained noise in the back of his throat, hand shooting up to clutch his head. Rapidly, these lines began forming up his neck, climbing their way to his face. Gnashing his teeth together, he forced his palms away from his face and made a move to leave again, opening the door. 

Black caught him at the shoulder, hand fisted into the material of his clothing. The action startled White and even her. It was inexplicable, but the thought of letting him go was out of the question. 

“Get your hand off of Us,” He warned her, “or you’re going to lose it.”

Somehow, her grip was able to tighten. 

“White. There’s something wrong with you.” Logically, she knew this wasn’t the time nor place to be having this conversation, but it had been postponed long enough. 

There were so many unknown variables surrounding everything that had been done to the both of them. Not even the circumstances of their birth were ordinary. Watching him, she couldn’t be certain that she wasn’t looking into a mirror of her own future. Following orders, being nothing more than a spectator to White’s descension, had gotten them both in this trouble to begin with. She had killed and maimed men, but it seemed as though observing the horrors that other people allowed to pass was one of the things she did best. Was that the reason why she had been delegated a supervisory role on the Nanite Project? 

“I feel just fine.” He sneered.

Her entire character had been decided by the Consortium, and that infuriated her. The entirety of her life, from creation to death, had already been determined for her. At some level, she’d always been aware of that inevitability, but actually seeing White’s spiral made her feel the finality of a slow crushing fate. 

She couldn’t tell if she was sad for him or herself.

“You’re not. You haven’t been for this entire trip.” She disagreed. “Fool. Our opponent is someone with a moniker he got for being one of the deadliest men in the world, and you’re not even at your best.” 

“Funny. I’ve never felt better in my life.” He chuckled, attempting to rip his shoulder out of her hold without success. 

Black hesitated, unable to properly phrase everything she wanted to say to him. How could she tell him? How could she possibly express… everything that she’d been feeling? She wasn’t sure if there existed any words at all.

“I’m leaving the Consortium.” She settled on, but it still wasn’t what she wanted to tell him. Nevertheless, it succeeded in stopping him completely. He didn’t try to shake her hold anymore. He was silent, like he was struggling to find the words too, and the glowing circuitry running rivulets against his face began dimming as he was forced to calm.

“They’ll want you dead.” 

“I know.” She acknowledged. 

“They’ll send me to do it.” 

“I know that too.” 

“Why then?” 

“Have you looked at yourself lately?” She asked dryly. Did he really enjoy being a lab rat? 

“You weren’t trying to turn me against Consortium.” He realized belatedly. He was wrong of course. It was there, unspoken so he didn’t know. 

_Come with me._

Her grasp on him slackened.

“Go on, run then.” He yanked his shoulder free, cracking the door open. “See how far you get. I have a mission to finish.” 

She stepped out after him, dogging his steps, trailing behind him as she always did.

“Co--” She never got the words out. The ground beneath their heavy boots gave out. 

A deep hole had been dug into the earth, hidden by unstable dirt. Anything she wanted to say caught in her throat, her fingers straining upward as she and White plummeted straight into weblike cords awaiting them in the pit. The wires snapped around them upon impact, binding their limbs so Black couldn’t brace herself when she finally hit the bottom. Shock jerked through her body, radiating through her bones. Her spine had smashed against the floor of the pit. 

Disturbed by the collision, dust clouded up the air. White coughed beside her, choked up by dirt. Her ears rang with a high pitched chime, the base of her skull throbbing incessantly along with it. From above them, a man crouched over the pit, moonlight glinting off of his shades. Dazed, she first believed she was imagining him, if not for a sudden splash of acrid smelling liquid that rained down on them. Kerosene. The scent burned her nose, forcing her to instinctively hold her breath. The shower of oil stopped, replaced by a tell tale strike of a matchstick. Because his recovery time was quicker, White was able to react much faster than her.

“You sonofa--” He bared his teeth and snarled.

Six lit a cigarette dangling from his lips. “I see you got my message.” 

“Yeah. Real funny.” White hissed.

“It wasn’t meant to be.” Their target responded flippantly, “I was under the impression that you enjoyed games. Or were you not the ones named after board game tokens?”

“Regular comedian, aren’t you?” White chuckled, murder in his eyes, “Wanna see something even funnier?” 

The only warning he gave was a threatening flash of yellow light. Like wings, brilliant golden blades sprouted from between his shoulder blades, slitting the cables that held him restrained. A long, white sword formed at his forearm and curved dangerously. The sword was a build Black Knight was already familiar with, but she hadn’t expected the wings. She knew Six hadn’t anticipated either of them because White leaped out of the pit and slashed him across the chest, tearing his skin open. 

They move out of her field of vision, taking the fight beyond where she could see. The sound of metal clashing against metal continued to reach her ears, the noise of their weapons locked in combat. Grunting, she shifted, wincing when she strained her back. The taste of petroleum still infected her mouth, but at the very least, she could now move again. 

She forced herself upright, wire cutting into her skin as she struggled into a sitting position. Her head tilted backward, resting against the pit wall. Unsure of how long she must have stayed that way, eventually she heard everything above her fall silent. Wary and distrustful of the quiet, Black kept her gaze trained toward the moon.

Every one of her muscles locked up at the sight of yellow eyes peering down at her, and the luminous shine of markings. Blood ran down the length of his arm and stained his clothing in splatters. The picture of a victor. His smirk was menacing, but it wavered when she glared up at him. 

What now? There they were, the dutiful soldier and the traitor at his mercy. Not that she would ever admit to it, but once it might have brought her comfort to know he would be the one to end her life. That enough camaraderie had grown between them for it to be swift. Now, she couldn’t be sure if she could expect mercy.

“Will it hurt?” She asked bitterly. 

White was frozen. She wasn’t able to read his expression as easily, but didn’t want to make the effort to either. Lest her mind fool her into believing she saw something that wasn’t there. 

“Not as much as it will Us.” He said, almost reassuringly. “Promise you that.” 

White struck a match. So he wasn’t even going to do it himself. The coward. Did he think it would absolve him of some of the guilt? Because he hadn’t landed her in the hole. Because Six had been the one to douse her in oil. Because it would be the fire that killed her, really. This way, he would be able to walk away from her. 

She refused to let him clear his conscious of this. Of her. 

Suddenly, she found the word she’d been searching for before, when she announced that she was defecting. It was all made simple for her, under the threat of the flame in his hand. 

He dropped the match.

“Goodbye then, brother.” 

* * *

What was a sibling if not an object of envy, and a childhood confidant confined to the same hell?

Because she had been younger, she hadn’t started training sessions at the same time as White Knight. Her first lesson in combat hadn’t gone well, saddling her with a mess of scrapes and bruises. After an entire week of this, red welts had formed on each one of her soft knuckles.

In those days, she and White honestly believed they were successfully sneaking into the mess hall after hours. Their superiors were privy to this of course, as Black later found out, but nobody ever saw a reason to put a stop to them. On file, they’d officially call these midnight jaunts “relatively harmless” and “not indicative of insubordination.” 

“It hurt. It hurt a lot.” 

She had just finished detailing to him a particularly rough lesson that had landed her with a black eye. Between them were two glasses of milk and a plate of bland dinner rolls. 

Confectionary treats like cookies were not something that the kitchens were stocked up on. Only the essentials found their way into the mess hall’s supply of food, but that did little to stop their after hour snacking. Her clumsy fingers pulled the milk toward her. The cup dwarfed her hand, as it was clearly designed for larger palms. That was fine, she didn’t drink right away, pressing her knuckles against it instead. The glass felt really nice and cold. 

“Won’t always.” White reassuringly said, prying her palm away from where she had it pressed it against the cup. “It gets easier.”

Though he was visibly disgusted at the sight of her blotchy fingers, he smeared something across the backs of her injured hands. 

“What’s that?” She wondered. 

“Vaseline. It’s for scrapes or burns.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “Any time you get busted up I guess. It’s supposed to make it better.” 

It smelled terrible, and she wasn’t sure how vaseline could heal a wound, but she didn’t question it. She believed him. He was older so he knew more, and he was usually right about things like this. 

“When does it stop hurting?” 

“After a little while.” He replied. “You get used to getting cut up. Then one day, you won’t even feel it at all anymore.”

He released her hand. 

“See? S’all better now.”

* * *

She burned. 

Every nerve ending in her body was set off in a single, explosive burst. Heat permeated past her skin, melting off her flesh in the course of destroying underlying tissue. She was not granted the release of having her sensation lost to nerve destruction. For every cell that the flames killed, the nanomachines in her system worked tirelessly to replace. She was stuck in that rotation; reforming ruptured vessels and muscle fibers, only to have it all incinerated away again.

Black might have screamed. She couldn’t be certain, unable to analyze a thing, not even the sting of betrayal. Searing red haze filled her head, leaving no room for anything else. She forgot White. She forgot herself. But she was screaming, sucking in lungfuls carbon monoxide that struggled to fail her organs and give her the end she was crying out for. She just wouldn’t die. 

Unknown to her, metal bands materialized at her wrists. 

They began as if bracelets, but slowly crawled up her arms, withstanding the fire. Under the severe stress, the nanites flooding her body launched a defense mechanism to combat the danger. Long strips of black and purple twisted around her like ribbon. Armor snaked over her limbs and torso, enveloping her in a protective embrace. Her face was the last to be encased, but the hurt lingered even with this new protection; both from the phantom pain brought by the memory, and the literal pain fizzling through her charred frame.

Coherency that she’d lost steadily began returning. Not that it mattered. What more was there left to contemplate? Instead, the ugly feeling of loathing gripped her heart. Black Knight, the former left hand of the Consortium, had been abandoned like trash. She couldn’t honestly even say she hated White, and that sickened her all the more. How dare they. And damn him, for leaving her to be swallowed by the earth. Strangely, there was no emptiness nor sense of loss that came with the severing of her ties. Even after all that she’d bled for them. The fire had wiped her clean of all sentiment. 

It’s not heartache, but a need for vengeance that draws her out of the hole. She pulls herself to the surface with her own two hands. There is fury in her fingertips, her metal fingers clawing into the dirt as she hauls herself forward. 

White’s back was to her. He didn’t see the moment she rose from the flame, hunched over as he was. His fingernails were digging into his face, blemishing it with scratches. The noises that tore from his throat were animal, shoulders trembling from the effort it took to keep himself from falling to pieces. He’d not made it very far before another fit overwhelmed him, but the only thing that registered in Black’s mind was that he was facing away from her.

“Don’t turn your back on me...” She curled her lip behind her mask, pulling her fist backward as if to prepare a punch. Instead, a flail whip of pure energy formed, extending passed her elbow. When she swung her arm forward, it cut through the air in a blur of blinding purple, striking him across the back. 

White held himself so rigidly that he couldn’t react quickly enough to dodge. The lashing sent him flying, throwing him into the car. Parts of his golden wings were dismantled by the force of her strike, coming off into jagged parts. Even after he hit the vehicle, it wasn’t enough to shake him out of his episode. He was muttering something to himself, low and pleading. She couldn’t hear what though. Regardless, she readied herself to attack again. Like him, mercy had never been her strong suit either. 

His back was still to her. 

“Did you hear what I said?” She struck out at him, but the second one never landed. 

Viperous cords emerged where his wings once were. In one mass swipe, the wires deflected her whip, and when he finally turned, she knew he was beyond listening to anything she could have said. The soft glow of his eyes had intensified into beaming lights that completely drowned out view of his irises. His expression was blank, free of all emotion. He wasn’t there anymore. 

Hesitating now would mean the difference between victory and defeat. Black’s jaw tightened, lunging out of a wire’s path as it lashed out at her. Her whip slowed her movements, she was forced to disassemble it mid-jump, hitting the dirt hard. Unable to stop there, she pushed herself away from the lash of another, then another, and another. There was no pattern to his attacks, no pause or break. For every swipe that failed to land, two more would rapidly shoot out at her twice as fast. One misstep would end everything quickly. Fed up with playing defensive, she leaped back and reassembled her whip, away from his reach.

Or so she thought. 

When the sole of her foot first touched the floor, a wire sprang from the earth, coiling around her leg. Time froze, locking her in that instant. Her eyes darted to White, who had tunneled a cable beneath the ground. 

_The look on his face._

Her heart throbbed once, missing a beat. 

Gone was the vacant stare, his lips split into a grin that stretched far too wide, exposing his white razor teeth. 

She knew that the game was over, that an end had finally been put to their everlasting competition with each other. Her features hardened when the cord tightened around her ankle, crushing bone through armor. Black opened her mouth to make a sound when a silver blur cut her loose. 

Freed, she immediately flipped herself backward, letting her weapon crumble for a second time. Because of her ankle, she failed to stick the landing, falling to her knees in the dust. Grunting, Black lifted her head and searched the area with some sense of urgency, not knowing what had been thrown or from where. Unknown variables were dangerous. 

Pinning White’s severed cable to the ground was a barrage of shuriken. Her eyes darted across the field to where Six was standing, alive but heavily wounded. He was using his katana to support himself. When she turned her head his way, their eyes briefly met, and in that moment a truce was silently declared. She rose, nanites already mending her leg better, only it would never be the same again. Not properly set, it would always be tender from thereon. 

Black nodded to Six. It was an acknowledgment of his action. A thanks.

White flicked his wires, stabbing them into the ground. In sporadic jerks, they emerged from beneath both Black and Six, putting them on defense again. Predicting where they would burst from was near impossible. Six wasn’t fast enough. Perhaps at his peak, he might have been able to do better, but he was already pushed to his limits by injuries. He was having one too many close-calls, and Black knew that if they both let the fight continue, he was going to give out.

“As long as he’s keeping us at a distance, we aren’t going to win.” Six called out to her, using his katana to tear through a cluster of wires that had succeeded in latching onto his waist. Dismembered, they sagged and fell away limply from his midsection. 

He was right. White’s cords were giving him the ability to stay just out of reach. They needed a long range attack. Her eyes narrowed in concentration, fingers tightening into fists. 

“Keep him off of me.” She ordered Six. The man raised a brow in question, but didn’t voice any doubt he might have felt. He merely spun his blade and played guard at her command. It wasn’t trust, but she assumed he valued his own life enough not to let anything happen to her. Behind her faceplate, she shut her eyes and began laying out the mental schematics for what they needed.

A hulking dark cannon came to rest at her shoulder. 

Aiming it in White’s direction, she began charging up a blast of concentrated radiation. Adrenaline flooded her veins, she could almost feel herself shake but maintained her ground. This was their chance. The only limitation was the wait that stretched endlessly on. 

Black didn’t see it until it was too late. It happened in succession. One of the wires yanked Six’s katana from his hands, allowing several to slip by him. They darted out at her at a speed that left her with no time to properly act. Only when they were mere meters away from her, poised to attack, did she freeze. There was nothing she could do in her position, but her only consolation was that she wouldn’t go down without taking him with her. 

From left field, taking her by surprise, Six threw himself in front of her with raised arms as his only protection. Unarmed, the cords pierced through his body, burrowing into his limbs in a mess of blood. They’d drilled into his shoulders, shredded into the flesh above both knees, and tethered themselves to the bones of his arms. His unselfish act, having jumped into the fray to shield her, completely disproved her initial assumption. If he hadn’t been protecting her to save himself, then she was at a loss as to why he’d…

“What… are you waiting… for?” He managed to grit out. “Take the shot...” 

Black fired.

With a deafening boom, a scorching ray of energy sliced through the air. In vain, White threw up wire after wire, but she’d charged up enough power that her blast obliterated them all. There was no blocking it. 

The impact produced a backlash so bright that she had to raise a hand even with her mask. The wind whipped wildly around them, sending dirt flying. Six squinted against the intensity, pushed off of his feet beside her. He didn’t get back up, having completely exerted himself.

Not allowing herself to relax, she waited for the dust to settle, watching the spot where she knew White would be. Even if he wasn’t down, she was sure that they'd worn him down, if even just the slightest. When the air cleared to reveal White, lying on his back amid damaged wire, she finally disarmed herself. Her cannon broke apart, bolts and scraps hitting the sand. Her faceplate cracked along the center, breaking down too. She didn’t know what compelled her to move toward White. It was a foolish thing. There was a chance he could awake and begin a new assault. But then there was the chance he would not stir, or ever awake again. She needed to see. She didn’t know. She had to be sure that he was--

A weak grip on her ankle, more of a light touch really, stopped her. 

“Don’t.” Six warned, coughing roughly. “We need to get out of here.” 

He was right of course. 

“I don’t take orders anymore...” She said mildly, and shook his hold off. Continuing, she made her way toward her former comrade.

The thing was, she never got to ask her question. It would have been easy to place the blame on Six for that. For preventing her from knowing what his answer would have been, if he might have said yes and ran away with her. But blaming Six would be dishonest, and she’d only be lying to herself. This face off between her and White had been a long time coming. The Consortium had pit them against each other from the beginning

She could have been him. If things had gone a bit differently, if she had been in his place, she couldn’t say she wouldn’t have made all the same moves he that he had. 

Black stopped in front of him.

His skin was badly blistered from her laser, but he wasn’t dead, nanites beginning the process of healing him.

_An eye for an eye._

She watched, almost in fascination, as his skin was slowly repaired before her eyes. The lines of circuitry weren’t there anymore. He was easier to look at now, even when he was at his worst. It was probably cruel, but she would have preferred him dead as opposed to on the fringe of losing himself to a lust for power. Not that it mattered. Regardless of how she felt, she could never be the one to do it. 

She turned around and left him in the wreckage of metal, taking Six with her. 

* * *

**[Extra]**

“This is completely unnecessary.” 

Arching a brow at her stubborn patient, Holiday remained unwilling to compromise. 

“Humor me then.” She replied dryly, pulling out the equipment necessary to check for vitals. When she’d discovered that Black Knight hadn’t had a physical done in years, she’d been completely thrown. The other woman seemed so organized and functional. She nearly couldn’t believe that she’d let something like this get away from her. 

She stuck a thermometer beneath Black’s tongue, ignoring how irked she appeared. It was funny. Endearing actually, but she wasn’t sure how that opinion would be received and wisely kept it to herself. Not for fear. Maybe once, Holiday might have been intimidated by her, but long gone were those days. How could she possibly fear someone who forgot to visit the doctor once a year? Was Black afraid of needles by any chance? 

Amused by how ridiculous and unrealistic that thought was, she found herself smiling as she reported, “Your vitals all seem normal. I’m going to test your reflexes and--” 

“You’re smiling.” 

Though it was an observation and not an accusation, she chuckled a little awkwardly, embarrassed to have been caught mentally poking fun at her boss. Not that Black knew the specifics. Nor would she ever. 

“Does… that bother you?” Holiday deflected carefully, without revealing that she'd been inwardly laughing at her reluctance to have regular checkups.

“No. You’ve just never smiled at me that way before.” She stated. 

Unsure what to make of that, Holiday mentally went over the implication of her words. Did… this mean she took notice of the different ways she smiled? Her face colored, a blush staining her cheeks. Why?

“I didn’t think you’d pay attention to something like that…” Holiday said, surprised. 

Black Knight only shrugged, a bit lazily so. “I just don't walk around playing the oblivious canary like Dr. Salazar. It's important to know people. What they're typically like. That way, you know what to expect from them. I don't usually like surprises.” 

“‘Usually?’”

“You surprised me..." Black admitted. “I thought you were nothing more than Dr. Fell’s mousy lab assistant. My expectations were exceeded.”

Holiday blinked several times, never having thought she'd hear that from Black of all people. She didn't want to keep over analyzing her boss’ every word, hanging off them like a vapid schoolgirl, but she couldn't help it. This was the longest interaction she thought they'd ever had. And... had she just been called a nice surprise? How exactly was she supposed to take that? However, a part of her lingered over the word ‘expectation,’ somewhat bothered. She was reminded of Dr. Fell, and his admonishment every time she attempted to grow out from beneath his shadow. 

_“Don’t forget: you’re just my assistant.” He’d tell her condescendingly. “Your job is to do little more than pass me my tools and prepare the lab specimen.”_

Now, she was Providence’s chief research officer while Fell was unemployed. It was funny how things worked out. 

“Thank you. But with all due respect, I didn't go into my line of work hoping to impress anybody.” Holiday defended.

“You did it because it was the right thing to do?” Black guessed, sounding slightly bored.

“No.” She shook her head. She hadn’t been preoccupied with doing ‘the right’ thing per se. She’d pledged her allegiance to Providence in order to save her sister, regardless of the organization’s former policy concerning most evos. Of course, she’d felt the guilt that came with affiliating herself with them, but Beverly… was important enough to set aside her own ethics. And wasn’t that the unspoken responsibility of an elder sister? To protect their younger sibling. 

“I had my own personal reasons.” She finally said. Then she paused and added firmly, “And also because it was the right thing to do.” 

“Of course.” Black Knight agreed, her lips twitching into an attractive, near-smile. 

Holiday averted eye contact. “Let me just check your reflexes and strength, then you're all set go go.”

For the most part, everything was relatively normal. It was only when she was testing the inversion and eversion of her foot that she noted any abnormality. It felt like the prominence at the distal end of her tibia protruded out more than it should have, making her ankle bone slightly deformed.

“...It feels like you had a broken bone here that wasn't properly set.” From where she knelt, Holiday directed her gaze up at Black Knight, trying to gauge her reaction.

“I probably did.” Black agreed coolly.

“That can't possibly be comfortable for you.” 

“When you’ve have an injury long enough, eventually you learn to ignore it.”

“But the pain.” Holiday persisted. “It's still there?” 

“It's fine.”

“You don't have to just deal with it though. You can have it surgically fixed--”

“No.” She cut off, standing from the examination table. “No surgery. If you're quite done, I have work to get back to...”

“When I said surgery, I meant something really minor if that's something that scares you--”

“Goodbye, doctor.” Black called out to her, making her way out of the room. Holiday couldn't help but watch her back as she left, taking extra note of the way she walked. 

Despite the malalignment of her ankle, she moved so gracefully that Holiday would have never guessed anything was wrong with her leg, if she hadn't examined it up close for herself. But despite the dignified way Black Knight carried herself, the doctor could only picture a spooked cat from just how quickly she vacated the examination room. 

Holiday bit her lip, resisting the urge to laugh.


End file.
